


The Kinks

by Missy



Series: The Kinks [1]
Category: Evil Dead Series (1981 1987 1993)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Slice of Life, ongoing works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-21
Updated: 2010-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:46:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not easy, but they're working them out, one by one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Basic Knots

He goes home.

Outside of the near-daily Deadite attacks, everything's exactly the way he left it. Tony the stockboy is still a pretentious douche bag but he listens to Ash's stories, which puts him in Ash's 'all right' column. Best of all, Holly in electronics still has the hots for him. After he saves her life they try to make a go of it, which lasts for all of four days before he has to turn her into corpse tartare.

That's when his supervisor suggests a move to sporting goods might be "healthy" for him, which to Ash sounds like a nice way of saying 'no one will notice the sound of extra gunfire if we put you next to the test range.' He would point out that Deadites are pretty damn noticeable no matter what he does or where he is, but he's not going to complain because he gets a two fifty an hour raise and a longer lunch break.

Because of that lunch break he's loafing around in electronics the day a special report interrupts a crucial Pistons game. Tom Brokhaw informs him that a British woman has emerged from a cave in Berwick-upon-Tweed, wearing tattered rags and claiming to be a fourteenth-century noblewoman. The authorities disbelieve her statements and have placed her in a psychiatric hospital.

Ash stands there for a moment. The chunk of apple he'd just bitten off tumbles out of his open mouth and splatters onto his polyester uniform to mix with the Deadite brains already staining it.

Tony obliviously continues eyeing the Twinkies being squeezed to the breaking point in their plastic wrapper between Ash's metal fingers.

"Do you still want those?"

 

***

It takes him a week to raise the cash needed to buy one round trip ticket to London and find a forger willing to make convincing birth and wedding certificates. On his flight into Heathrow he has the same stewardess who had waited on him on his flight back to the States, and with whom he flirts until she turns Deadite and he's forced to grab the skycap's gun and take her out.

He tells the officials at Coldstream Cottage that he's Sheila's husband, Ashley, and that his wife had gone missing during a hiking trip a year ago. She'd been suffering from symptoms of a delusional disorder for some time and was under the care of a Doctor Raymond Knowby in Michigan. "PTS, sir," Ash says sincerely to the psychiatrist monitoring her case, amazed at his own capacity for a lie.

Sheila has been a model patient during her stay; she's not delusional about her current circumstances, only some portion of her past, and is completely nonviolent. The relief in her face when she sees Ash for the first time dies away at the hard, angry look in his own – Sheila therefore adds nothing more to the conversation but 'aye'. Aye, this is her husband; aye, she recognizes the name Knowby, and he was her physician in America; aye. She looks so small in her thin pink wrapper and hospital gown, so fragile, and Ash avoids looking her in the eyes.

He should have reminded himself that her fragility was just a cover. She meets him at the front desk in a borrowed blue traveling suit, accompanied by an attentive nurse. This gray-haired woman takes Sheila's hand and places it carefully in Ash's. "You will take good care of her," she says to Ash, in a very direct way.

Ash is offended for reasons he can't really name. "I'm her husband." He says that as if it settles the question, his scars and metal hand an asset in such arguments, insofar as they're an insurance policy against them. She says nothing more but watches him, hawkish, her eyes sharp. After taking care of a mountain of paperwork – they're free to go, and Ash must drag Sheila away from the building.

The taxi ride is silent, a muscle in Ash's jaw ticking for the duration of the trip, the passing headlights flashing in the brown of Sheila's glaring eyes and the redder tone of her hair. When she reaches for his hand he pulls violently away; when they reach the airport he tries to take her suitcase and she shoves him backward and nearly onto his ass. In spite of all of this, he gets her a ticket to Detroit, having to turn in his own in for seats in coach; they board immediately and fly for the US.

When they get there, there's some trouble in the lounge at Metro Air, and as he's hacking up his latest problem she stands beside him, somewhat astonished.

"Ye misspake the words," she says, as they push their way through the panicked crowd and head to the carport.

"Not all of 'em, baby," he replies flatly, pulling her along, nearly shoving Sheila into the car. His voice is rusty from lack of use, a testament to his complete and total stubbornness; they're halfway to his place when he uses it again. "Why did you do it? You had everything back there. Could've made some bastard a great wife, had a whole passel of kids and…."

"I did not wish for those things with another." Sheila meets his eyes in the morning light.

The silence encompasses their individual worlds, an unreachable gap as daytime arrives. Ash jerks his gaze away from hers and concentrates on the steady cadence of wheels on pavement.

 

***

He would be impressed by her stubbornness, if it didn't drive him crazy. Sure, there's something good about the way she grits her teeth and acclimates to the present, but it drives him nuts that she doesn't seem to want to listen to him, or take his help. Through sheer stubborn foolhardy will, she learns the written language by watching Sesame Street. With that she begins to occupy herself with reading – by tearing through the old magazines he had lying around – then with learning simple math. With those combined skills she knows enough to become a cashier, to get a job as a laborer. She was born a lady, and if it bothers her to be one of the common people she does not say so.

Sheila doesn't talk about much with Ash. She lives with him. She takes his food with great reluctance. But the rest of her self is veiled, secreted and locked against his anger, his gruffness, even his awkward attempts and friendliness.

"Ye wished for this," she reminds him when she notices his loneliness and he knows then that she's still making him pay for his anger with her own, and he's still pissed at her for everything from the rock at the beginning to this disruption of his modern life. They hurt each other with their fury, but both are too proud to admit it.

He doesn't want her anymore, or that's what he tells himself as he watches Sheila teach herself to use a stove, to make tea and sweet bread with little more than her notes and her ingenuity.

Ash can't take her tea, but the bread's scent makes his mouth water. He can't mistake the pride in her eyes when she gives him a slice, and he can't cover his groan of satisfaction at the taste of it.

***

It turns into a daily pattern – he sees her flitting around electronics every noon, surrounded by a small cadre of female friend who've been trying to teach her about popular culture. She's been working there for about a month when Anthony finally asks him who the girl is.

"Remember the story?"

Anthony raises a brow. "That's Sheila?" A nod. Anthony watches her for a moment, then exhales a slow whistle, which cuts off sharply when Ash socks him in the shoulder. "What's the big deal, huh? She's not your girl anymore."

Ash stares at her as she moves through the CD display. "It's hard to let go all the way. She came back a hundred plus years 'cause she couldn't live without me. Now she won't even look me in the eye."

"Harsh," remarks Tony lightly.

"Life's harsh," replies Ash, his eyes never leaving Sheila's retreating form.   
Anthony let out a slowly exhaled whistle, a habit of his that Ash hated. "Damn. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you cared."

Ash is smart enough not to say anything else, letting her drift away like a ghost. When a redneck trying to buy two hunting rifles without a proper license suddenly turns into a demon, Ash dispatches him with through, messy violence. He knows deep down why he's doing such a thorough job.

To stop it from getting to Sheila.

It's as big a sign as any that he really does care.

 

***

"Ashley?"

He doesn't like it when she calls him by his full name, but he turns automatically toward her as she utters it. "Yeah?"

"Do ye…might ye teach me to?"

He drops the screwdriver he'd been using with a loud clatter on the table. "Spit it out, lady."

Sheila frowns down at him. "I would that ye taught me to use a 'boomstick'."

He raises an eyebrow. He's not really offended this time – he's, in fact, rather impressed by her gumption. And needs to learn how to defend herself; he knows she can already, but they don't have spears lying around in the twenty-first century.

"Yeah," Ash says. He puts down his tool kit and abandons the broken television set. "I'll take you to the range."

He'll find out later that she asked one of her friends how to bridge the gap between them. He'll find out that she's not very good at waging war but can broker peace with ease. He'll learn way more than he needed to know about her later.

Later's when they'll work out the kinks. Now's the time to unknot their resentments and move forward.


	2. The Unlacing

They're treading on fresh ground now, the ground of friendship. It's not anything either of them hasn't had with others, but when you try to be friends with someone you've slept with, it's a little harder to just smile politely and do small talk.

Pun intended.

Maybe he spends a little more time than he wants to watching her stock shelves. Maybe it's that he has to hold her from behind to protect her from the gun's kickback. Probably he spends too many seconds listening to her laugh.

He's afraid he's falling backward, into the warm snare of love. It's a trap lined with honey, and he can't wiggle free.

He doesn't really want to.

"Vous Amies," Sheila tells him. "We are friends."

"Uh huh," he agrees, staring down her dress.

 

***

"What the hell do you do about a girl like that?" he asks Tony.

"Get your shots?" He dodge's Ash's grasp. "Dude, I'm just kidding."

"Don't talk about Sheila like that."

"Like she's human?"

"Like she's a dog."

"She's anything but a dog, dude," Tony says.

She's helping a couple of kids pick out a gaming system, sexier somehow when she doesn't know he's watching, ripe, untouchable curves tempting him when they ought not.

"Tell me about it."

 

***

He's the one who tries to kiss her, after yet another Deadite attack. This one had dived in her direction, swooped to tear her to ribbons. She had kicked herself free of its grip, taking a blow to the shoulder, a cut down her side.

When the battle ends, he stands over her with a hand out, showing her a way up. Without thinking, he dips his head, trying to caress her ear with his lips.

She pulls away. "Sir, ye forget yourself."

 

***

The next time he tries that she slaps him across the face, and he has to stop himself from slapping her back.

***

They're screaming at each other in the rain over something so trivial that he'll never be able to remember the root source of the argument. She's gesturing while he's screaming, and before either of them can form a coherent thought he's got her by the sides of her face and is kissing the life out of her.

Her tone is plaintive and confused. "Is this how ye treat a friend?"

***

"Are we friends, Ashley?"

They're standing around waiting for the next shift to arrive, in a parking lot scattered with coffee cups and broken bottles.

"Do you want to be?"

"A lady does not have a say in such matters."

"You do here."

She considers it, and he watches her, trying not to care, trying for cool nonchalance.

She turns and wraps her arms around his neck. "I would that we were more."


	3. Unbuttoning Buttons

It's her first Christmas, and she insists on doing the cooking even though she hasn't mastered the stove quite yet. He watches the game while she struggles, cursing quietly, trying to get everything together without insinuating that something's wrong.

By noon the gravy's seized into a white, chalky clump in a saucepan, the turkey half-raw and steaming in the oven, the potatoes lumpy liquid in a bowl.

He calls in some favors

Tony's not doing anything; he brings a bird, stuffing, and mashed potatoes; his spider-web tattooed girlfriend brings cranberry sauce and conspiracy theories.

Sheila holds it together. She won't break in front of him.

He wonders if that's what he really wants.

**

It's been a dance of progress, all throughout the fall – slow-motion makeout sessions on the couch, a tangle of arms and legs on the couch, kisses that last for minutes and hands that roam carefully over clothed breasts and buttocks.

Whenever his hand creeps up her shirt, she freezes. Whenever he tries to kiss her breast, she grows furtive. When he tries to unbutton her shirt a panic attack ensues. She can't seem to stand it, the fear in her eyes honest, mysterious.

She won't talk about it, he won't push, her pride and his damning them to frustrated silence.

***

He figures out the problem through deduction. She can't bear to be in any position where she can't see his face, panics when he touches her under her body. It all goes back to the wicked side of himself, her assault, the event that introduced her to her own dark side.

"Please. I cannot," she begs off, her face burrowing miserably into the pillows.

***

She finds someone to talk to, someone who teaches her how to open up to Ash, and he tries to listen to her fear, her doubts, her

"I can see him still, his hands upon my face. He said that I was sweet."

She IS sweet, and about as miserable as he is. As much as she wants to please him, she freezes in mid-gesture, cut off, heart segregated from body.

***

It's a winter of advance and retreat. Achingly slow advances; by December she can lie unclad beside him; he can kiss the brown tips of her breasts, weigh their small softness in his palm, knead them. She doesn't panic when he takes off his shirt – she touches his chest with her strange combination of timidity and boldness. Then the retreat if he unzips his pants, leaving him with a major case of blue balls.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he reminds her.

Her gaze is unflinching. "Would that I could believe thee."

***

He looks at other women that January. He admires curves, strides, smiles, asses, tits – speculates on what they'd be like in bed, how they'd please him.

But whenever he considers introducing himself, taking advantage of an easy grin or the come-hither tilt of the head, he sees Sheila's face.

He's totally sunk and he knows it.

 

***

She's brushing her teeth when he reaches the breaking point, standing naked in the doorframe and giving her a look that could melt the walls.

She pivots slowly, dropping to her knees, her arms around his waist and her face buried against his belly.

"Please," she says, kissing his stomach. "Please."

She's trembling, but brave, her eyes sharp upon his face.

***

He's pretty sure his brain evaporates into dust when he comes in her mouth.

***

She comes to him slowly, slowly. His hand under her dress, under her panties, holding her breasts. Her fear doesn't evaporate in her bravery, but brave she is.

Inside of her, he brings her pleasure. Inside of her, he brings her a wide-eyed spasm of disbelief and relief.

Winter ends.


	4. advanced kinkology

He doesn't really mean to propose to her, but he does.

She says no.

Then she proposes to him, after they've escaped the lion's jaws again.

This time HE says yes.

 

***

They get married at the Justice of the Peace's, with her in a white sweater, her hair and eyes and skin iridescent and glorious to behold.

He does love her. He doesn't say it enough, but he does. He remembers that she made him stop to light a candle in the church, even though he hasn't prayed in years.

 

***

 

The first apartment is a hole in the wall, the second not much better, suffering from the cheapness and draftiness. The third is just right.

They hold a real Thanksgiving there, and then a Christmas, and soon the quasi-domesticity feels like it's second nature.

 

***

The baby happens with easy coincidence – they weren't planning on it, are terrified of it, but it happens so quickly they barely have time to second-guess themselves.

 

***

It's a boy. Ash is certain of it.

 

***

His daughter is half the length of his arm, with dark eyes and a curious smile and the sort of fierceness of the soul that makes him grin.

God help him, he loves her.

He loves them both.

He's very glad her mother is a stubborn wench who wouldn't take 'stay in the past' for an answer.


End file.
